The days spent settling into the so-called "Sacred Cave" within the Kunlun Mountains were a relentless trial, testing the absolute limits of Steven Miske's physical endurance and psychological resilience.
If the desperate flight through the jungle had been an adrenaline-fueled action sequence, daily life inside the cave was akin to starring in a low-budget survival horror documentary, complete with oppressive atmosphere and a deeply unpleasant 4D olfactory experience.
He huddled on the cold rock floor, wrapped in the stiff, vaguely rank animal hide that served as his only bedding, feeling the pervasive chill seep into him like countless microscopic needles.
Day or night held little meaning here; the vast cavern remained perpetually shrouded in a dim gloom where visibility rarely exceeded fifteen feet.
The only illumination came from ghostly patches of blue-green bioluminescent fungi clinging to distant rock faces, their eerie glow just bright enough to make one question their potential toxicity.
Deep within the cave walls, veins of strange minerals were faintly visible, some shimmering with the soft luster of raw jade, others streaked with a dark, blood-like red, hinting at dormant, ancient power trapped within the stone.
Besides the monotonous drip… drip… drip of water echoing from the unseen ceiling, elusive sounds sometimes reverberated from the deeper recesses – the grinding rumble of immense stones shifting far below, or perhaps the long, mournful sighs of some primordial entity.
The tribal elders warned the children away from the dark crevices where these sounds originated, whispering of the "mountain spirits' abodes."
"Good morning, valued guest of the Kunlun Mountain Luxury Cave Suite," Steven greeted himself with bleak sarcasm each… cycle?
"Today's gourmet breakfast special is… oh, what a surprise! The usual soul-crushing suspects!"
His gaze drifted towards the cave's central gathering area where an impassive woman, her forehead marked with simple symbols in red ochre, was distributing the day's "rations" to each family cluster (which basically meant each huddle of shivering people).
When his turn came, a chunk of dark red, raw meat, still showing faint blood vessels and slick sinew, was unceremoniously dropped onto the rock floor before him, alongside a scoop of viscous paste of an indeterminate, unappetizing color served in a crude, lopsided earthenware bowl.
"So… generous!" Steven felt his stomach stage a protest. "Seriously debating whether to just shut down completely or go through the motions before giving up. Option A: Prehistoric Mystery Meat Tartare, unknown flavor profile, five-star parasite rating guaranteed. Option B: Enigmatic Plant Fiber and Dirt Power Bar, tastes faintly of… well, Mother Earth's overly rustic B.O. Which will it be? Or… Option C: sweet, merciful death?"
In the end, the relentless, gnawing hunger always won. Resigned to his fate, he'd close his eyes, hold his breath, pinch off a small piece of raw meat with trembling fingers (always aiming for the least veiny bit), and force it down like medicine, swallowing hard to avoid registering the slick, coppery texture.
He'd follow it with a reluctant scoop of the paste, the sensation akin to choking down wet sand mixed with bitter bile.
"Exquisite… not!" He'd wipe his mouth, the unpleasant aftertaste clinging stubbornly.
"Cecil, take a memo: if I croak from food poisoning or some flesh-eating parasite, remember my cautionary tale gets published. Title it: 'Taste Buds and Existential Dread: A Stone Age Gamble'."
"Record saved, Sir," Cecil's voice replied, still carrying that faint electronic static, a lingering artifact of the mural incident's overload – an event yet to happen but whose foreshadowing perhaps already affected the chip?.
"However, analysis of baseline human physiology suggests long-term consumption of uncooked meat and unidentified flora correlates highly with chronic malnutrition, digestive pathologies, and multiple pathogen infections. Probability of acute fatal reaction remains statistically low, though quality of life metrics indicate a significant negative trend…"
"Thanks for the pep talk, pal! You're a real comfort. Like a security blanket… made of sandpaper and despair!"
Steven shot back mentally.
Drinking water was also a "game for the brave."
Deep in the cave there was a small puddle, the only water source, though it was already polluted and foul.
Legend among the tribal elders whispered that this pool once connected to the sacred Jade Pool (Yaochi) high upon the mountain peak, clear enough to reflect the very stars.
Steven witnessed tribe members dip greasy-looking waterskins made of stitched animal bladders directly into the pool.
Cecil, ever helpful, annotated the microscopic view on Steven's retina: "Preliminary analysis: Fluid contains minimum three distinct species of unknown parasitic ova, two proto-forms resembling Hirudinea larvae, and over fifteen morphologically distinct bacterial and protist colonies. Consumption Advisory: Strongly contraindicated unless subject is experiencing terminal dehydration."
"Gee, thanks! So, protagonists in those transmigration novels… they just photosynthesize? Or maybe they have built-in water filters? Why don't I get that perk?! I'll lick condensation off the walls before I touch that 'Prehistoric Microbial Tonic'!"
Which he often did, savoring the faint, mineral tang as if it were fine wine.
Then there was sanitation.
The designated "latrine corner" in the cave's deepest recess… Steven had perfected the art of holding his breath and employing strategic aversion of gaze whenever nature called.
"The smell alone could probably qualify as a Class IV biohazard! Good thing this isn't one of those novels where basic bodily functions are completely ignored, otherwise I'd have literally exploded by now!"
And sleep. Just cold, damp rock. The tribe members huddled together, a mass of shared body heat and rough hides.
Steven, the perpetual outsider, remained relegated to a lonely corner, shivering violently despite the stiff, musty pelt wrapped around him.
"Other transmigrators fall into princesses' beds or conveniently find self-warming artifacts. Me? I don't even rate a pile of straw. Definitely got the cannon fodder starting package!"
He observed their rudimentary industries. Besides Mason and other hunters bringing back raw meat, life was monotonous.
He saw elders patiently knapping flint against obsidian, chipping away tiny flakes to form sharp edges for tools or weapons.
He saw women working tough, foul-smelling plant fibers—soaking, pounding, scraping—then using needles carved from bone and sinew thread to stitch together rough garments or weave crude baskets.
Piles of misshapen, dull-ochre pottery sat in corners, perhaps the tribe's highest technological achievement.
Days bled into one another, marked by Steven's internal monologue, his careful observations, his slow struggles to learn the language, and his occasional, awkward interactions with Tina.
She remained surprisingly patient, often seeking him out, pointing at objects and repeating their names, her bright curiosity a stark contrast to the suspicion in most other eyes.
Steven, in turn, felt his initial wariness slowly being chipped away by her simple, consistent kindness, though his learning pace remained glacial.
"Damn! Novels always give the MC instant language mastery! One look and they're fluent? I'm still struggling with 'rock' versus 'slightly different rock'! Did all my damn skill points default to Sarcasm?!"
Through Tina, and his own observations, his understanding of the tribe's social structure deepened.
He saw little evidence of fixed, exclusive partnerships. Tina herself interacted freely with several young men, sharing food easily, resting near different individuals for warmth without any apparent jealousy from others.
Other women exhibited similar patterns. Children, often sticky and boisterous, seemed to belong to everyone and no one in particular, cared for collectively.
The entire concept was still jarring to his 21st-century sensibilities, yet undeniably functional within their harsh reality.
"Okay… maybe… from a purely evolutionary standpoint… maximizing genetic diversity and communal child-rearing is the optimal survival strategy when your life expectancy is probably thirty and giant monsters are trying to eat you?"
He tried to rationalize it, but the possessive instinct ingrained by his own culture still stung when he saw Tina laugh easily with Mason or another hunter.
"Still… feels wrong. Doesn't she want… someone? Something stable? Ugh. Right. Survive first, play relationship counselor later. Gotta master the stone axe before I can lecture anyone on lifelong commitment!"
This wildly unrealistic goal became another mental carrot dangling in the bleakness.
He was lost in these thoughts when he noticed Mason again.
The volatile warrior was squatting nearby, utterly absorbed in chipping away at a large stone, clearly fashioning a new axe head.
The precision of his blows, the way he instinctively knew where to strike to flake off the perfect shard, the focused intensity… it was far beyond simple brute force.
"Hey Cecil, check this out… Mason actually seems to know his rocks, doesn't he?"
"Observing behavioral patterns of target designated 'M'sen'…" Cecil's voice crackled slightly.
"Subject demonstrates exceptional proficiency in lithic reduction techniques, including material assessment, force vector control, and targeted spalling, significantly exceeding observed tribal mean… Cross-referencing semantic designation 'M'sen'…" A momentary pause, filled with static.
"Confirmed, Sir. As previously hypothesized, the local appellation 'M'sen,' based on refined analysis of proto-Huaxia root words, strongly correlates with concepts of 'Stone-like Hardness' and is intrinsically linked to the hereditary designation of 'Stone-Splitter' or 'Stone-Shaper' within this tribal lineage. High probability this is his given name or a title reflecting familial vocation."
"Holy crap! So he really is 'Stone Bro'?!" Steven stared, stunned.
"This setting doesn't do anything by halves, does it? Guy's built like rock, stubborn as rock, named after rock, and apparently comes from a family of rock-bashers? Hardcore."